


Can't Read My Poker Face

by hpdm4ever, MessiFangirl (hpdm4ever)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Poker, Sorry Not Sorry, Strip Poker, leo keeps taking his clothes off, obviously this is where my mind went
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 02:02:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8082328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/hpdm4ever, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/MessiFangirl
Summary: Piqué is a couple drinks in when he suggests it.
A couple of drinks in and losing badly.
"Are you serious?" Cristiano asks, arching an eyebrow as he shuffles the deck in his hands. He's won a fair amount of money tonight just playing five card draw, but now it appears as though his friend has nothing more to give over. "What are you? 13 years old?" He bends the pile and flips through the ends of the cards aimlessly with his thumb. "Or you just think Shakira will be happier with you losing your clothes as opposed to losing her money?"
Piqué takes a swig of his beer and then wipes his mouth. "Alright, alright, she gave me a limit... But, you're never too old for strip poker," he slurs out, giggling. "Right, Leo?" 
They both look over to Messi. The other man has been quiet all night, only joining the poker table after Sergio and James had gone outside on the patio with the rest of the crowd.
Messi's cheeks are pink at the sudden attention. "I've never played,” he mumbles, starting to fidget with his ear.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yulin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yulin/gifts).



> This is not my fault. But Leo keeps stripping off his clothes and it is ridiculous. Also I love it.

 

Piqué is a couple drinks in when he suggests it.

A couple of drinks in and losing badly.

"Are you serious?" Cristiano asks, arching an eyebrow as he shuffles the deck in his hands. He's won a fair amount of money tonight just playing five card draw, but now it appears as though his friend has nothing more to give over. "What are you? 13 years old?" He bends the pile and flips through the ends of the cards aimlessly with his thumb. "Or you just think Shakira will be happier with you losing your clothes as opposed to losing her money?"

Piqué takes a swig of his beer and then wipes his mouth. "Alright, alright, she gave me a limit... But, you're never too old for strip poker," he slurs out, giggling. "Right, Leo?"

They both look over to Messi. The other man has been quiet all night, only joining the poker table after Sergio and James had gone outside on the patio with the rest of the crowd.

Messi's cheeks are pink at the sudden attention. "I've never played,” he mumbles, starting to fidget with his ear.

Cristiano wants to make a smart comment, but he merely quirks his lips to hide his smile. Doesn’t want to scare Messi off after all the time it took for him to actually relax.

Piqué, on the other hand, apparently has no such control.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, eh? Yes, you did!" Piqué insists, gesturing in Messi's direction. "Maybe not all the time... But at least once--we went to that party, the last one before I got shipped off to England. Remember? Cesc threw up all himself and we dumped him in the back room..." He cackles and ignores the way Messi is shaking his head.

"And!" Piqué shouts suddenly. "That one girl was there and she had *that* tattoo, remember?"

Cristiano raises his eyebrows again, watching as Messi's cheeks grow pinker. He wonders if that flush goes all the way down. "Oh?" Cristiano says, just to be an ass.

Piqué slaps the table, sending chips flying. He doesn’t seem to care about Cristiano’s weak protest. "Oh god, we thought she was so fucking hot." He stares dreamily off into the distance and then shakes his head. "Nothing compared to Shak now, obviously," he says drunkenly. He swivels his head to look at Cristiano. "But she was so into our little Leo... I think it was her idea that we play."

Messi slouches into his chair, looking up at the ceiling like he's asking God for patience. "I remember her," he admits. "But I didn't go to that party."

Cristiano can't help himself. "Weren't you a hermit back then?" He takes a sip of his own drink, somewhat intrigued by the way Messi's eyes narrow. “I think I read something in the papers about that…” He trails off as Messi’s nostrils flare.

It's kinda hot.

"I was not a hermit," Messi says defensively, clearly a little louder than he means to because he instantly lowers his voice when Cristiano raises his eyebrows. "But I was *hurt*. Some ass had caught me in training that day, and my ankle was swollen. I could barely walk. And *then*, that same ass left for England the next day." He tilts his chin like this is something that’s still bothering him and didn’t happen years ago. "So no, I didn't go to the party, I had a fucking shitty week, and I didn’t ever play strip poker.”

Piqué sways in his chair. "Oh, fuck," he says as realization dawns, reaching across to grab Leo's arm. His hand clutches Leo’s. ”I—I—fuck… I forgot that was my last night, Leo... Shit, it was the goodbye party! I remember now it all, now. I'm sorry!" He seems oblivious to the contents of the table and instead tries to pull Leo closer. "I'm sorry," he slurs out again, frowning. “I’m so sorry.”

His voice is a little loud in Cristiano's ear, but Messi seems used to it.

"Quiet, Geri," Messi says, squeezing Piqué's fingers like this is something he’s had to say a hundred times before. "I'm right here. You don't have to shout." But he doesn't let go of Piqué's hand. "And it's fine. I forgave you for that a long time ago, you know that."

Cristiano isn’t so sure that’s true, but he isn’t going to get in the middle of… whatever this is. He takes a sip of his drink and just watches as the two of them stare at each other, feeling a little unnerved as the silence grows. He's never quite understood exactly what's between them.

Friendship, yes, but maybe something more?

Eventually, Messi pushes Piqué's arm away entirely, half standing to shove the other man back across the table. "My original statement still stands. I never played." He shrugs once Piqué is sitting again, seeming mostly unbothered, settling back into his chair. "It's stupid, anyways, a game for teenagers who want to see each other naked, right?”

But then his eyes flick over at Cristiano.

Cristiano stares back, his smile growing as the flush returns to Messi's cheeks.

Because he thinks Messi wants to play.

Piqué claps his hands together, narrowly missing knocking his beer off the table. "Fuck that, we're playing now!" He makes a gimme motion at Cristiano. "Come on, Cris, deal the cards." He begins singing ‘Waka Waka’ under his breath, trying to dance without actually standing up.

Cristiano laughs, shuffling the deck once more. He gives Messi a moment to protest, and when the smaller man stays silent, he shrugs. "Alright then," he says. "Why not?"

Piqué claps again, snatching up the cards as Cristiano deals. "Oooooh," Piqué says, rocking back in his chair. He almost falls but steadies himself at the last moment. "I'm looking goooooood, boys," he says, slapping his cards face down in front of him so that he can finish his beer.

Cristiano laughs again, focused on his cards. "You're out of money, and soon you're going to be out of your clothes," he retorts. “Will Shakira let you come home if you’ve lost everything but your skin??” He shakes his head when Piqué just laughs and laughs. “I’m taking two," Cristiano says, adding a three of diamonds and a seven of clubs to the discard pile and retrieving new cards. The result gives him a lovely full house.

Piqué keeps laughing, clumsily dropping his bottle onto the pile of empties next to the table. His bottle clinks against the others but doesn't break. "Take all you want. I'm sitting pretty."

Beside them, Messi mumbles something. He ends up trading in three cards. But whatever he gets makes him shake his head in disgust. "Fuck," he says, throwing down a pair of eights. "Pair," he says, running a hand through his hair nervously.

Piqué, as it turns out, has a flush--all diamonds: four, six, seven, ten, and jack. He looks cocky, swaying forward. "Beat that." He starts singing again.

"Good, but not good enough," Cristiano announces gleefully. He reveals his full house--three queens and a pair of nines. Piqué groans, thunking his head on the table. "That's right. Read them and weep," Cristiano says, grinning. "Now who's sitting pretty?!"

Messi's eyes are dark when Cristiano turns in his direction. "So what now, we both take something off?" Messi asks, fingertip tracing the edge of his glass. He must get a drop of something on it, because he lifts his finger to his mouth and sucks on it, eyes still on Cristiano’s.

Then he pulls it off with a pop.

Cristiano feels arousal start to pool in his belly.

It’s not… something he expected. But between the alcohol and the winning, and Lionel Messi’s lips…

Cristiano bares his teeth in an attempt to ignore it. "Oh, no, little Leo," he says, borrowing the nickname and getting a dirty look in return. He laughs, feeling more like himself, gathering the cards so he can shuffle again. "The winner gets to choose a person." He tilts his head towards Piqué, waiting for the other man to back him up. But he's still facedown on the table. And actually, as Cristiano leans closer, he notices that Piqué is now snoring.

Messi laughs too, then. "He's such a mess," Messi says fondly, rolling his eyes as Piqué snores louder.

Cristiano's in agreement. “Don’t know how you put up with him,” he says, shuffling the cards aimlessly. He tilts his head back in time to meet Messi’s eyes. Because now it’s just about the two of them. “You know what this means, though, right?” he asks, holding the cards in his hand.

Messi’s soft smile smooths out, and he bites his lip, worrying the flesh roughly.

Cristiano wants to reach out and make him stop. Instead, he curls his free hand into a fist. The other taps the table with the deck. “What’s it gonna be? The shirt or the shorts?” He grins devilishly. “Normally I’d ease you into it and say lose the shirt, but your jean shorts are frankly hideous, so…”

Messi stops biting his lip and glares. “Fuck you,” he mumbles, looking down at himself. He fingers the hem of his shirt and then looks towards the open door, somehow looking both angry and unsure at the same time.

“You wanna just go?” Cristiano asks. Him and his big mouth… He didn’t mean to be a dick about it, but it seems to come naturally. “Piqué will never know… But I didn’t peg you for a coward.”

He knows Messi isn’t, of course he knows that.

But more than that, he knows Lionel Messi is like him. Messi is going to forget his fear, going to forget everything, going to feel like he has to prove himself. Because he’s a competitive little bastard.

Even if it’s just fucking strip poker.

And, as usual, Messi doesn’t disappoint.

Messi drops his hand. “Fuck you,” he says again, this time, more clearly, dropping that silly, slurry Argentine drawl. He stands up, pops the button, unzips his fly, and pulls down his shorts.

Cristiano barely has a chance to see that little Leo Messi is fucking *packing* in tight black briefs (both front and back, he might add, *holy shit*) before the jean shorts are thrown towards his face. He catches them at the last second and dangles them from a finger. “As I said,” Cristiano drawls, trying to recover, as he eyes them disdainfully. He lets them swing them side to side and then drops them on the floor next to his chair.

Messi sits back into his seat, crossing his arms. “Give me another hand,” he orders, slapping the table and then tugging his white t-shirt down as if it’s going to cover him.

Cristiano can’t see anything risqué anyways, not with the both of them sitting at the table.

He can imagine, though… His mouth goes dry.

“Ronaldo,” Messi says, sounding like he’s said it a few times. “You okay?”

“Cris,” Cristiano responds without thinking. “Or Cristiano,” he mutters, when Messi looks surprised. "Especially here. Now." He shrugs. “I mean,” he sighs, “here, at my house, at my table… just the two of us… You know?”

“Cristiano,” Messi says, losing a little of his glare. The name sounds strange in his mouth, harsh, and Messi must think so too because he says it again. “Cristiano,” he repeats, tone softer, his accent starting to come back. This time, it sounds better, somehow more normal, and both of them kinda smile.

“So I can call you Leo, right?” Cristiano asks, taking a sip of his drink, trying to soldier on even though he’s not sure if he should.

Messi’s smile is strange. “You already do,” he says, shrugging. He raises a hand and pushes some of his hair off of his forehead, something Cristiano recognizes as another one of his nervous gestures. Messi opens his mouth, almost saying something and then seemingly thinks better of it.

Cristiano sees an opportunity.

“Little Leo,” Cristiano says, grinning again, this time flirtatiously. “Although, from what I just saw, I’m not sure you’re really *that* little.” He flicks his eyes to Messi’s lap and raises his eyebrows.

Messi flushes immediately. “Shut up,” he says, tugging his white t-shirt down again. “Can we just finish this God-awful game.” He looks down at himself and then seems to realize what he’s doing, jerking his head up.

Cristiano raises an eyebrow. “Sure, *Leo*,” he says, caressing the name, forgoing the ‘little’ entirely. “You know, if you ever get tired of that Dolce and Gabbana contract, I can hook you up with some CR7s,” he offers. He shuffles the deck again, delighting in the way Leo’s mouth has fallen open. “Not that I don’t enjoy the ads, of course,” he says slowly, starting to deal.

Messi stares at him, entire face turning red. The flush starts to travel down his neck.

Cristiano can’t help but wonder where else it travels.

“Did you—,” Messi chokes out, “just?” His voice is faint, eyes huge. “About?” he asks, seeming incapable of putting together a full sentence. He opens his mouth to say something else, shutting it immediately when Cristiano smirks.

“Just making conversation,” Cristiano says, setting the deck down so he can look at his cards. He’s got a three of hearts, four of hearts, and five of diamonds—the makings of a straight. His eight of spades is useless. But his last card is a queen of diamonds, and he has to war with himself as to what he wants to discard. Finally, he decides to get rid of the eight and the queen, and just goes for the straight. “Taking two,” he throws out, looking up at Messi again.

Messi hasn’t even looked at his cards. He’s still looking incredibly unsettled, biting his lip again. “But—? Really?” he asks, smile starting to peek out.

Cristiano smiles in response, tilting his head at his new cards. Six of spades and seven of diamonds. It’s his lucky day. He looks back at Messi, considering throwing a hand just to make things interesting, but it’s just not in his nature to lose on purpose. “Ready to lose your shirt?” he asks, unable to keep the grin off his face.

Messi takes a deep breath, picking up his cards. His fingers are shaking and he closes his eyes upon seeing his hand. After a beat, he takes two cards and tosses them towards the pile. “Two,” he says, not looking at Cristiano at all, trying to keep his face emotionless. Whatever he gets, however, doesn’t seem to help, and he licks his lips nervously. “Fucking pair again,” he says, throwing down two tens. “And you?”

Cristiano only barely holds in his glee. “Straight,” he says, putting his cards down in front of him.

Messi’s eyes dart to them and then back to his own measly pair. “I fucking suck at this,” he says under his breath, starting to laugh.

Cristiano very deliberately does not mention anything about sucking. He laughs lightly instead.

Messi’s tugging on his own hair, still staring down at the table like he can magically change his cards into something better. “I didn’t even want to play this game,” he says ruefully. He strips off his shirt and balls it up on the table, shivering slightly.

Cristiano laughs again. “Oh, poor you,” he says, watching Messi’s head jerk up. “How about this?” He unbuttons his own shirt, slowly, deliberately. Then he strips it off, tossing it onto the table. “Now you’re not losing by quite so much.” He smooths a hand down his chest, flexing as he does so, gratified to see that Messi’s eyes follow his fingers. “Better?” he asks, smirking.

Messi’s tongue flicks out, wetting his lips. “I suppose,” he says, dropping his gaze to the table again. He looks up at Cristiano through his lashes. “Do we keep going?”

Cristiano looks at him, drinking in the tiny, pebbled nipples and the firm, muscled chest. He takes a deep breath, gathering up the cards off the table, shuffling them automatically. “Well,” he says, when he’s finished, setting them in the middle of the table amongst the piles of chips. “We can stop,” he says, sitting back and picking up his drink. He swallows down the last bit of it, suddenly thirsty.

Because Messi’s flush does go all the way down.

“Or,” Cristiano says, putting his empty glass down with a thud. “Or, we could go upstairs and play another game.”

Messi’s piercing gaze swings towards Cristiano. “And play what?” he says, tone hard to read. But he picks up his own drink, following Cristiano’s lead. “What game?”

Cristiano grins.

“I’m particularly fond of seven minutes in heaven,” Cristiano offers, standing up. He raises an eyebrow in challenge, knowing Messi won’t back down.

And again, he isn’t disappointed.

“Only seven minutes?” Messi asks, rising to his feet. He should look ridiculous, standing in just his briefs while Cristiano is only bare to the waist. But somehow he looks anything but uncomfortable. He smirks. “Oh, Cristiano. Now *there’s* something I can beat you at.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Gifs from [here](http://cristianoronaldocf.tumblr.com/post/149944983541/cristiano-in-the-pokerstars-duel-vs-miss-world)
> 
>  
> 
> (Also, not intentional, but upon a reread, Cris mentioning seeing Leo's ad is similar to a line in [Waterloo by tententwenty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1928502), though that story is vastly superior in comparison to this one lol)
> 
> Ok I'm off to Spain. Back in October! Don't really expect any updates while I'm gone :) xo


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